Thursday, June 19, 2014

To Sharpen a Pencil

There I was, standing in the doorway of the very classroom I
internally pulled away from during introductions.The sweet teacher led me through the
disheveled sea of babies, shouting, “Muzungu!” (“Westerner” in Lugandan) as I
was offered the bites of various foreign foods in the held-out hands of many pre-schoolers.I was motioned to sit in the teacher chair
and was given a simple task.I was
handed a plate of pencils, various colors and types, and asked to sharpen.I felt my racing, grasping-for-familiarity
soul release slightly.This was
something I could handle.This was
something I could perform and perform well—not reliant upon fluency in cultural
cues or emotional energy.It was then
that she handed me a razor blade in the place of what I assumed was going to be
a simple twist-and-sharpen contraption that could be purchased at a dollar
store.Needless to say, I type his experience
with a few calloused fingers.I don’t
identify myself as a physically and strongly coordinated person.As I worked to mimic the stern motions she
modeled on a few pencils in just a few short moments, in between efforts to
keep order in the classroom maintained, I found myself knee-deep in a pile of
sweet children grabbing for my hair, my watch, my heart and I felt myself sink
knee-deep into struggle.Five minutes
must have passed before I saw any sign of graphite from the first subject of
chiseling.I would have asked for
further instruction, but what could be simpler than sharpening a pencil?

I felt myself give into the experience and work through this
obscure adversity to find the meaning of it.And as I sat sunken in this struggle I felt the hands of God, showing
me, teaching me, chiseling at me. “I’m
working through the kinks, through the discontinuities of love and endurance
inside of you,” He lovingly whispers.Love is the propelling motion that nudges us into trying again.Maybe my gift is not physically strong
coordination.Maybe sharpening pencils
with a razor blade means performing my best and coming up short.But I do know that I am being strengthened to
trust the God that made this classroom, this experience—hand-tailored to my
inner battle—even if it means being left with a few temporary callouses.

Just one developed thought of many I am experiencing in
Lugazi, Uganda.So far from home, but
just as close to the love and care and provision of Jesus Christ.More to come! xoxo, Ahne